


◯◯◻△◻◯

by SandrC



Series: (K)Nights Alone [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Again, Blood, Character Study, Emetophobia, Horror aspects, Origin Story, Panic Attacks, TAZ: Nights, The Adventure Zone: Nights, True Names, an unknowable god, and can put up a good front, and even if this gets Jossed to hell im gonna enjoy it, but it's nights because you can't change it in the middle Travis you dweeb, cause apparently I can't not write them, descriptions of a seizure, descriptions of viscera and organs, eldritch horror, even the balance npcs have a fucking fully fleshed out story and chaacter, hc central, i have so many sons, ish???, look dudes, minor loss of agency, or (k)nights, so I trust him, that dude doesn't half-ass any sort of character creation, theres gotta be a reason he's a warlock past 'griff thought this was hella cool', tom Collins isn't weak so much as anxious, tom is my son and I will fite u for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: "Religion," Thomas Collins Sr. often said, "is just a way for rich people to exert their power by pretending that a higher being said it instead of them."(Or: How Tom Collins Became a Warlock for the Ancient Old One)





	

**Author's Note:**

> First off: fuck iPhones and their snotty fucking RAM. Second: sorry about not posting the newest chapter of Jump, opting for this instead. TL;DR, brain issues, new meds, work, overwatch's new event, cutting a toxic friend of fourteen years out of my life, the new TAZ episode (FUCKING HELL YES MY DUDES THIS IS MY SHIT I LOVE THIS FUCK YEAH GO MCELBOYS!!!!!), and working on my homebrew campaign. 
> 
> You'll get a new chapter soonish but for now please enjoy this lil TAZ: Nights fic.
> 
> Also: please lemme know if I messed anything up? Idk if I did but, I encourage dialogue with y'all. It's my bread and butter :3
> 
> Also also: this is proof I almost literally cannot not write a character study lmao. Bless this mess.

Tom Collins had always been a nervous kid. It was part and parcel of being a half-elf, but it was worse when you lived on the strange grey patch that sat between opulence and poverty. That was his lot in life. That is where his family's bar, _Erudite Automaton_ , sat. Just good enough to not starve but not good enough to have patrons who don't scribble lewd messages on the bathroom walls.

(Thomas Collins Sr. had, on many occasions, revealed that he actually enjoyed cleaning those messages up. Because, "nothing is more fun that seeing crude caricatures of genitalia drawn in smudged marker and covered with various stains of dubious origins with sad little Stone of Farspeech numbers beneath them". He sometimes took pictures of the best ones and kept them in a scrapbook that he called "The Book of Wang (and the occasional vagina)". Tom didn't get it but whatever. It made his dad smile.)

The only group that ever clawed their way out of this swampy middle ground were wizards. Sorcerers were innately born into magic so either they were or they weren't. Druids were few and far between, as the forests were a good long ways away from the Capital. But wizards? They were learned. _Anyone_ could be a wizard if they tried hard enough!

That's what Tom wanted to be. He wanted to be a wizard. He wanted to pioneer technomancy into the new age and provide for his dad and prove that the Collinses could move forward, despite their current predicament.

So he hit the books and studied.

_Fat lot of good that did._

Words wouldn't stay still. Letters danced across the pages and fuck all if numbers weren't worse. They changed places, the b's became d's and the p's became q's and sometimes an r next to an n looked like an m. It was worse when it was an illuminated manuscript, which most wizardly books were, because _apparently_ , if you were a goddamn wizard, you could read letters that were so curly that Lenny would request one for his drink! Plus the gilt inlay and illuminations were distracting. And reading, in the end, gave him a massive headache.

(Thomas Collins Sr. said that he needed glasses. Tom kept refusing because "y-you need to keep that money cause-cause the _Automaton_ i-is more important than my-my eyes" and Thomas Sr. just passed on his own owlish spectacles. The lenses were cokebottle thick and made his already striking, stormy elven eyes look comically huge, especially with the frames that were two sizes too large for his head. Lenny jokingly called him Bug once and Tom pouted for a week but kept wearing them because he needed to read to be a wizard, right?)

In the end it was futile. He couldn't even produce a single spark of Prestidigitation. Not. A. One.

It _crushed_ him. There was his one and only chance to help his dad and he had bungled it. He got his mom's eyes and his mom's ears and his mom's teeth but not his mom's magic apparently. Life just wasn't _fair_! Why did bad things happen to good people?!

(Thomas Collins Sr. passed away not soon after this realization and Tom took over. Numbers still sucked but mixing drinks and knowing people was easier, despite his anxiety. Smiling, waving, talking, it was a mask that he wore well. And then the whole...Lenny _thing_ went on...so fuck that noise. And he was alone. No one in the _Automaton_ fucking cared about him, for real. They just liked his cheap booze and cool mixer tricks. He was alone.)

A year or so later, the dreams began.

Night terrors at first. He couldn't remember them, but he woke up in a cold sweat most nights, tangled in his sheets. He didn't need to sleep because of his elven heritage but it was one of the few things he had that reminded him of his dad, so he did anyway. His heart was hammering like a startled rabbit and he started to develop tics. His stutter grew worse and there were days where he had to close down the Automaton to recoup because he couldn't handle one person in the room, let alone the max capacity of fifty-six!

Then the night terrors turned to nightmares. And he remembered them.

He remembered it.

All his dreams started the same. He was floating in a large black space, stripped down to his birthday suit, and before him was a series of shapes that made his head hurt to look at. It was similar to how reading made his head hurt, only it made his heart race in fear as well. He would always try to look away but it was there, ever-shifting, ever-rippling, a strange collection of abstract shapes. After that, the dreams tended to wander a bit.

On the fifty-seventh dream, Tom finally spoke up, directing his question to the...being? It definitely was alive, but damn he hated not knowing what the shit was up in his dreams. Vague, threatening, existing...this thing was alive, for sure, and fucking terrifying.

"Why am I naked?"

**YOU DREAM.** The being spoke.

Well, spoke was the wrong way to describe it. It was more like he heard the words in his head but also he had always known them and he felt them and it wracked him to his core. If he had been awake, he would have probably passed out from fear, but in this dreamscape, he was more composed. He was always more composed when he dreamt.

"I got that. Why am I _naked_ though?" He didn't marvel that his stammer was gone. He didn't question the being. He just wanted to know why he had no clothes.

**THIS IS ALL OF YOU. WHAT MORE COVERING COULD YOU DESIRE.** It wavered in its eternal, omnipresent space.

"I usually have at least underwear on," Tom gesture vaguely to his genitals. "I kinda feel put off here. Cause, you know, my junk is all out?"

**THEN DESIRE IT MORE. THIS REFLECTS YOUR MIND. THINK IT AND IT WILL BE.** It sounded amused, shifting rapidly. Tom just thought about comfortable fantasy MeUndies.

Without so much as any indication of magic, he was wearing them. Far nicer than any pair he actually owned—all threadbare and spotty—they were like fucking wearing clouds on his junk. "Oh. _Neat_."

**THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR, YOU ARE COMMENDABLY STOIC THIS TIME. MY LAST FEW ATTEMPTS TO CONTACT YOU HAVE ENDED IN TERROR AND SCREAMS. WHILE DELIGHTFUL, IT CERTAINLY IS COUNTERPRODUCTIVE TO MY PLANS.** It wavered back and forth, repeating a pattern of circle-circle-square-triangle-square-circle-square. It seemed to be laughing without audibly laughing.

"So _you're_ the reason I've been having trouble." Tom frowned. "And don't call me Thomas."

**THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR, I, IN MY INFINITE WISDOM, HAVE CHOSEN YOU TO BE MY VASSAL IN THIS REALM. FEEL JOY, THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR, FOR YOU HAVE ACHIEVED YOUR GOAL.** It seemed smug, triangle-triangle-triangle.

"What goal?" Tom's ears flicked slightly in confusion.

**MAGIC, THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR. I BRING YOU THE GIFT OF MAGIC AND CONTROL. ALL YOU HAVE EVER DESIRED IS WITHIN YOUR REACH AT LAST. GIVE YOUR PRAISE TO ME NOW. I WILL ACCEPT IT HEARTILY.** Circle-circle-square-triangle-square-circle-square. Tom bristled.

"What do you mean?! I don't have magic! I _can't_ do magic! I tried, _believe you me_! I studied until my eyes almost bled, until I passed out from exhaustion, until I had to be force-fed! You haven't given me jack- _shit_ , whatever you are! Fuck you!" He flipped the being the double bird and crossed his arms petulantly.

**YOU HAVE NOT ACCEPTED ME. YOU MUST FIRST ACCEPT ME TO GAIN MY MAGIC THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR.** Triangle-circle-triangle-triangle. It seemed a bit peeved.

"Accept you? What _are_ you?!" Tom froze as the being ceased its shifting and stayed in a pattern of shapes: square-square-triangle-circle-square.

**I AM WHAT I AM.** It showed him.

Tom woke up screaming. His eyes were filled with a sticky black goop and, as he clawed it away, he cut himself on his nails. It was more than he ever expected and so much less all at once. So, for the first time in his life, Tom Collins went to a temple.

("Religion," Thomas Collins Sr. often said, "is just a way for rich people to exert their power by pretending that a higher being said it instead of them." Tom was similar, not just because he loved and idolized his dad, but because he saw it too. The money passing hands for 'holy law' to be written in their favor. The corruption. The greed. Temple taxes and so on. It was all just the same shit with a different coat of haughty.)

Regardless of his feelings on the corruption of religious organizations, he found himself kneeling in the temple of Waukeen, the grand temple of the merchant's district, and praying as if his very being needed it.

_Waukeen, you've been pretty shitty to me in my life. First my dad, then the Automaton, and now? Fucking...I-I don't know what it is that-that contacted me, but I-I want it gone. I don't like it. I-I-I'm really scared of it. Please, for once in my miserable life. Please just answer me._

There was silence. Whatever hope he had placed in the god, deceitful or otherwise, evaporated. And that night he had a dream.

**YOU FLED.** Triangle-triangle-triangle.

"You are rather hard to look at, especially when you're...not _this_." Tom was fully clothed this time, in a comfortable facsimile of his everyday wear.

**THAT IS WHY I APPEAR AS THIS; TO MAKE IT EASIER ON YOUR MIND. MY FIRST FEW ATTEMPTS WERE TO FIND A FORM THAT WOULD NOT DRIVE YOU MAD.** Circle-circle-square-triangle-square-circle-square. Tom had figured out that this was it being amused. He felt proud for solving this riddle.

"Well I appreciate that...I _guess_?" He gnawed on his lower lip. "What are you?"

Circle-circle-circle. **I AM WHO I AM.**

"No, I mean," he gestured wildly and grimaced, " _what_ are you? Like _being_ -wise?"

**NOTHING**. Circle-circle-circle.

"What are you, _goddammit_!" If there was a floor to step on, he would've stomped his foot in frustration.

**YES. THAT.** Triangle-triangle-triangle. **A GOD.**

"What do I call you then?"

**MASTER**. Triangle-triangle-triangle. Smug. _Fuck_.

"What _name_ do I call you?"

**ANCIENT OLD ONE.** Triangle-triangle-triangle.

"What is your name?!" Now his temper broke, flaring up with all the frustration he had ever felt at anyone before. "What is it you're called?!"

Triangle-triangle-triangle.

The name alone jolted him awake, throwing him from his bed and onto the floor. His sheets tangled around him but his brain wasn't registering it. Instead, he could only hear the fearsome noise echoing in his head, tearing his skull apart. He wanted to run, as fast as his fucking stumpy little legs could carry him, but instead he kicked around and gasped for air. Panic blacked out his vision. His ears are ringing. His heart is racing. He feels like he's dying.

He is dying.

He is dying and he fucking is choking and his heart is leaping from his chest. This is how he goes, on his back like a helpless turtle, kicking his feet feebly, screaming, and crying. _Pathetic_. Typical Tom Collins.

(That was something he was told once. "Typical Tom Collins," Lenny had spat when he refused him room and board. Tom had flushed bright red, ears shooting upwards in horror, and his glasses fogged up. Upon seeing his horrified look, Lenny smirked in the way that indicated he was going to do what he did best, and continued. "Fucking pathetically rolling with the tide because you're too weak to swim. Laying down and takin' it up the ass cause you can't get it up enough to please. You're a _joke_ and I'm glad I'm done with your hokey fucking bullshit dumbass dive bar. _Fuck you_ Collins."

He tried to pretend it didn't hurt.

The tears streaking down his face betrayed him.)

When the fog cleared, it came with a brilliant white light and a splitting headache. He hissed through his teeth and sputtered pistol shots. Flecks of redblack blood, drying perhaps but also an eldritch reminder of the Ancient Old One's presence, stained his polo. He sat up, shakily, then bent over and threw up. Green bile smattered with chunks of orange whatever and chewed food slapped against the stone tile floor of his bedroom. Then, when his stomach insisted there was nothing left to give, he hocked up a wave of that same black ooze as was in his blood and his tears from earlier...and something else. A large lump of something. Something that looked vaguely... _flesh-like_?

He didn't want to know. He didn't _need_ to know. But he _did_ need to clean it up, so he shakily staggered over to his kitchenette and grabbed a small paper bag to handle... _whatever_ this was. Using the bag as a barrier between him and _ick_ , Tom grabbed ahold of it and picked the blobby-fleshy... _thing_ up and hissed as the sickly sweet smell of rot and the pungent smell of feces and the bitter smell of infection nearly knocked him over. His vision swam. He felt like he was going to pass out again. A high tone whined in his ears. He pushed forward, to the bathroom.

Trying his hardest to not look at it for too long, Tom dropped the thing into the toilet and flushed. As he watched it sink into the piping, he saw a single, beady, human eye blink open and stare at him. The whole of the thing beat, once, twice, then was swallowed by the water pressure. Tom slumped against his bathroom wall and just breathed, tremors wracking his whole body. He could hear his heart. He could smell his own fear. His glasses were fogged up with how flushed and sweaty he was. The blood on his polo smelt of pennies. The bile on his socks smelt of illness. The ooze on his chin smelt of decay. Everything was falling to shit and he fucking _hated_ it.

"W-what am I gonna _do_? Tell-tell me what I need to do! Waukeen, Myrkulle, Istus, fuck it! I'll-I'll take fucking _Tyr_ at this point! Just someone p-provide me with some guidance here! I-I'm so _scared_..." He drew his knees in towards his chest and cried.

He was alone with an eldritch god.

He was alone with _madness itself._

When next he dreamt, he had a plan. A plan that had taken several boiling showers fully clothed, two sick days, one day of meditating, and more Vicodin, Xanax, Codeine, and Valium than any one person should take, but he had a plan.

"Yes or no answers. Nothing specific. Just yes or no. Or even hot or cold. Just...nothing like that again." Tom rubbed his temples wearily and sighed, the Ancient Old One floating in his vision.

**UNDERSTOOD. YOU SUFFERED GREATLY FROM PRODDING LAST TIME SO YOU WISH TO MINIMIZE THE DAMAGE THIS TIME. IT IS WISE OF YOU, THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR. I CHOSE WELL.** Triangle-triangle-triangle. **ASK AWAY.**

"I don't need your permission," Tom snapped. He was so done. So, so done with this bullshit. "Now, do I just call you Ancient Old One?"

**IT IS ALL YOU CAN CALL ME, ASIDE FROM MASTER.** Triangle-triangle-triangle.

" _Whatever_ ," he sighed, "you said you could give me magic, that you had chosen me? What did you mean?"

**WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE. I HAVE COME TO YOU, THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR, TO OFFER YOU MAGIC IN EXCHANGE FOR ASSISTANCE.** Circle-circle-circle.

"Assistance?" Tom stared blankly at the Ancient Old One. His head hurt less now that he had experienced... _that_. He could look at it without worrying about the mental pain.

**I AM A FORGOTTEN GOD. MYRKULLE, ISTUS, WAUKEEN, AND TYR HAVE DRAWN ALL THE ATTENTION OF THOSE WHO USED TO SEEK MY FAVOR. I NEED FOLLOWERS TO GAIN BACK MY STRENGTH. I NEED POWER AND WILL AND MAGIC AND KNOWING. I NEED A RECRUITER AND I HAVE CHOSEN YOU, THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR**. Triangle-square-square-square.

"But...why _me_?" Its request wasn't unusual; knowing that it was a god of old made it easier to accept its desire for followers. What was bugging him is what made it choose him in the first place. "I'm sure there are others who are more...suited for this kind of work. I'm not an evangelist, you know? I can barely talk to my patrons without shaking and stammering and needing to take a break. I don't think I'd be a good witness to a...god of your _magnitude_."

Circle-circle-circle. **I HAVE CHOSEN YOU BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU ARE. YOU ARE MEEK, THIS IS TRUE, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT MUST BE SAID AND YOU FIND THE BEST WAY TO SAY IT SO AS TO NOT INCITE VIOLENCE. YOU ARE CONFLICT AVOIDANT AND IT MAKES YOU WISE. YOU RUN A BAR, A PLACE WHERE PEOPLE COME TO FORGET AND TO REGRET. YOU ASSUAGE THEIR FEARS AND CONVINCE THEM TO PAY YOU FOR THE BITTER TASTE OF FORGETTING. YOU DAZZLE THEM WITH YOUR COMPLEX AND FLASHY TRICKS AND ARE SIMPLE AND UNASSUMING. NO ONE FEARS YOU, THOMAS COLLINS JUNIOR, AND THAT IS YOUR STRENGTH. YOU CAN CONVINCE OTHERS. YOU WILL BRING ABOUT MY RESURGENCE.** Triangle-triangle-triangle. Tom was touched and...also _offended_? Mostly touched though.

"And _how_ would I spread your word? I can hardly hear your True Name without seizing. How am I expected to speak it or sell the concept of 'an Ancient Old God who can give you more than you ask for'?" Tom was interested, sure. Magic was a guiding principle, but having someone seek him out because they _believed_ in him, despite and even _because_ of his flaws, was gratifying and he instinctively rushed to embrace that feeling.

**TELL THEM THAT YOU ARE THE MESSENGER FOR A FORGOTTEN GOD. TELL THEM I WILL OFFER THEM KNOWLEDGE AND STRENGTH AND ALL THE FUTURE HOLDS. SHOW THEM WHAT I GAVE YOU. REQUEST ONLY THEIR DEVOTION, THEIR WORSHIP, AND THEIR NAME.** Circle-circle-square-triangle-square-circle. **I CAN BIND THEM WITH THAT. THEY WILL WORSHIP ONLY ME. I WILL RISE AND DETHRONE THE NEW GODS. I WILL BE WHERE I BELONG ONCE MORE.**

"And if they refuse?"

**IF THEY REFUSE AND ARE WORTH IT—INFLUENTIAL OR POWERFUL OR AN ASSET WE CANNOT DO WITHOUT—THEN REACH INTO THEIR MIND WITH THE MAGIC I WILL GIVE YOU AND TAKE THEIR NAME FROM THEM.** Triangle-triangle-triangle. Tom shuddered.

"Take as _in_...?" He didn't want to know but he _needed_ to. He needed to know if this would end well for him.

**FIND IT AND REMOVE IT. GIVE THEM A NEW NAME TO COMMAND THEM WITH AND MASK THIS NEW NAME WITH THEIR OLD ONE. DO NOT ALLOW THEM TO KNOW YOU HAVE DONE THIS AND THEN SAY THEIR NEW NAME AND COMMAND THEM TO WORSHIP ME. SIMPLE AND UNOBTRUSIVE.**

"What if they're bound by geas to some other entity?" Uncomfortable, yes, but if the payoff was as great as it sounded, he didn't care.

**I AM FAR STRONGER THAN ANY BEING THAT COULD BIND A GEAS TO A MORTAL IN THIS AGE. EVEN EMACIATED AS I AM, WITHOUT FOLLOWERS OR NAMES, I COULD BREAK IT AS EASILY AS I COULD BREAK YOU.** Tom shuddered in fear but the Ancient Old One shifted again. Circle-circle-square-triangle-square-circle. Amusement. Laughter. It was... _joking_ about that last part? **DO WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT?**

"Magic in exchange for followers?" Tom pretended to think about it, finger on his chin as he 'pondered' the pros and cons. "I find that agreeable. Do we shake or?"

**TELL ME YOUR TRUE NAME. THE CONTRACT LIES THERE.**

Part of Tom wanted to protest and holler that he didn't know his own True Name, but that was a fucking lie. He knew it. All elves, half or otherwise, knew their True Names. And nowadays, with technomancy the way it is, you could easily learn yours if you didn't already know it.

"Nuinorhên Tetyguo Rîs-Almiëlva." When his Name left his lips, he felt the pull of the Ancient Old One. It dragged his soul forward, pulling and shaping a place for itself deep within him, and branded him, using his Name as the chains to bind him to his pact.

**NOW, NUINORHÊN TETYGUO RÎS-ALMIËLVA, YOU HAVE BEEN GIFTED WITH MY MAGIC AND MY INFLUENCE. DO AS YOU PROMISED AND ALL WILL BE REWARDED IN THE END.** Triangle-triangle-circle-circle. **YOU WILL NOT DREAM OF ME UNLESS YOU SEEK ME. DO NOT FAIL.**

Tom nodded, the compulsion of his Name forcing that code into his very self. And then he woke.

No screaming. No puking. No crying. No blood. No racing heart. No abject horror.

He just... _woke up._

And he moved on.

And he 'learned magic'. He 'became a wizard'.

And when people asked him what school he studied under, he'd just smile and offer them a drink. "Let me tell you about something cool," he'd say, softly and sweetly introducing them to the Ancient Old One. He'd never implicate himself— _oh no!_ He was a firm believer in Wuakeen—but he spread words and whispers. He told drunkards and woebegotten souls. He suggested it to acolytes and squires who seemed dissatisfied. He added magical flare to his mixing and smiled when people asked how he did it. He buried his fear under layers of his Name and his new god.

(And later, when he woke in the Gauntlet with a strange tiefling, Lenny Manolito, and no idea how he got there, he was terrified he had been found out. But he hadn't been. And he was moving up? He was taking charge? He was doing something to change the Capital, that was sure.

And sure, Lenny was still sour about the blackballing—he _knows_ what he did though!—and Troth was... _something_. But, at long last, he wasn't alone. He wasn't _alone_.

He wasn't a regretful child of sorrow of the brilliant queen anymore.

He was the twin victory of the people.)

**Author's Note:**

> Like this work? Have you ever felt victimized by the mcelboys? Come holler at/with me at [my Tumblr](http://thesleepiestsheepy.tumblr.com) or [my Twitter](http://twitter.com/ArrowAceP). I don't bite! :3


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